Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1) (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Spartan

Javier pauses at the double doors of the English Silver gallery. Salsa music floats from the inside. His eyes are deep, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, before we go in, can we stop by Euro Art really quick?” Javier says, glancing at Benson.

“Sure,” I say but my insides are spinning like the salsa records. I know this will be about Aiden and I know that Javier speaks with the kinds of truth you cannot unhear.

I turn to Benson, almost wishing he needed help carrying the boxes. “Thank you so much, Benson. You’re a wizard.”

He blushes to his ears. “That’s my job title, Miss Snow.”

I laugh. “Give him a kiss from me.”

“That’s not in my job description, Miss Snow.” His lips are twitching in a smile.

“Not even on his cheek?”

He loses his stoic expression. “I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”

I laugh and follow Javier down the hall to the European Art exhibit. For a while, we do not speak. Just his polished shoes and my new cream Louboutin heels ringing on the marble floor. The ancient eyes of muses follow us from their frames. I am suddenly envious of their security.

Javier stops in front of an 1805 painting by François Lebarbier.
A Spartan Woman Giving a Shield to Her Son
, the title card reads.

“Look at her face.” Javier breaks the silence, his fingers weaving through the air as though he is drawing her profile. I follow their motion, focusing on the chestnut-haired woman and her gaze at her son. Instantly, I think of Aiden’s mum, Stella.

“She is afraid,” he says. “Look at the dark shadow on her cheek. But she doesn’t show it. She’s smiling at him.”

I smile too, watching her curved, pale lips.

“Now, look at the Spartan.” Javier’s voice deepens, his finger tracing the warrior’s rippling shoulders. His back is to the viewer but his face is to Stella. Every muscle band from his rocklike calves to his hand gripping the sharp spear is ready for destruction.

“Totally deadly, yet he’s watching her with need, maybe because she has the shield that might save him.”

I stare at the warrior’s face without blinking. There is a childish craving on it, waiting for his mother to hoist the shield on his forearm.

Javier looks at me. “Do you think he will come home to her?”

At the question, tears singe my eyes but I cannot look away from the painting. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “Why are you showing me this?”

He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. “Because I’m worried about you…you and Hale. See, he reminds me a bit of this warrior here. There is an anger about Hale—something is not right. For example, the way he looked at me just now, like he was going to rip my head off. But then you get near him and he looks at you with a desperate need like this Spartan here.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because with all that, he can’t even put aside a conference call to make time for you. He throws all this cash your way, buys all these presents, but he can’t even bother to take two floors to meet your family. That’s why it’s bad.”

My mouth dries and I look back at the Spartan warrior, his back strained with the weight of his armor. But Javier’s words have thickened the air. It sludges in my airways, unable to come either in or out.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on between you two, hmm? Last week, you said you weren’t seeing him again but it felt like there was more to the story. Then this week, he calls me, taking over this whole damn party.”

I force my lungs to inhale. This I can explain. “Well, I was upset because we had a misunderstanding. He wanted to distance me because he thought I deserved better. I thought he didn’t like me, and it all fell apart from there. But then he came over and explained. And now, here we are,” I say, blushing head to toe, the way I imagine I would have blushed if I admitted this to my dad.

“The part about him thinking you deserve better is what worries me.”

I shake my head. How can I explain that without betraying Aiden? “Most good men are biased against themselves. Sound familiar?”

He smiles. “A man knows himself better than anyone else, Isa. Anyway, so now what—he has declared himself and wants to be with you?”

This is the question. This is what I ask myself each night on those last blissful seconds of consciousness after being Aiden’s completely. Does Aiden really want to be with me? Not to save me, not to make love to me, but to really want me by his side?

“Well, no…not exactly. We’re just spending some time together.”

“Some
time
together?” I have managed break through Javier’s calm exterior. “Sweetheart, you may not have time! A whole team of lawyers is telling you that. And you want to spend it with someone who can’t even spare two hours to come to your party. Even if you had all the time in the world, that would not be okay.”

“It’s not like that,” I whisper but my stomach is churning so violently that I’m afraid I will vomit. “He’s a really good man.”

“If it’s not like that, then why do you look like you just overdosed on paint fumes?”

I look up at the deep wrinkles on his forehead despite his twenty-three years, wishing I could smooth them away. “What really worries you, Javier? What do you think is happening?”

He takes a deep breath. “Honestly, I have no clue. But I think he’s dangerous and I worry that he’s going to try to take you away from us.”

I don’t touch the
dangerous
part. “Take me from you? Javier, look at everything he did just so that we can be together and have a good time!”

“Yeah, but he’s not here! How soon before you have to choose between him or us? Even if you
can
stay?”

“He
wants
me to have all of you. He
wants
me to be happy. Why don’t you believe that?” I say with as much strength as I can muster. The problem is that he cannot be part of my life and I want him to be. I want it badly.

Javier looks at the painting, stabbing a finger at the Spartan. “Because I don’t know what’s going on in your picture. Is he with you because whatever you give him is like this shield over here? Or does he love you?”

My knees almost buckle at his questions. I never thought of Aiden’s feelings that way. That he is not really choosing to have me, he is just captive to his memory and addicted—as he said—to the calmness I give him. He wants to save me, yes. He wants me to have my own life because he is a good man. But when it comes to his desire for me, is that all it is—addiction, not love?

Javier pats my shoulder. “You love him,” he says. It’s not a question.

I look up at him.
How does he know?

He smiles as he reads the question in my eyes. “You didn’t think I would notice? I see the lighter eyes, the shy, drunk smile you’ve never had before. Even your blush is different. And now you look like you’re about to faint.” He speaks softly, searching my face. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to be like this woman here. Scared to death but even more afraid to show it. I’m here for you. All of us are.”

I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. Hugging him with all the fear he has seen and all the fear he is taking away. “How can I ever thank you, Javier? I’ve never deserved you or your family but I love you all with all my heart.”

He ruffles my hair. “Well, if you really want to thank me, just be happy. And don’t let Hale drive a wedge between us. Yes, you need us, but we need you too. You’re the only one that believes in my art, in my
genius
, as you call it. Everyone else I know sees it as a means to food. But you, you’re vicious. You think I’ll make it. Over the years, your nagging has kept me going. And, despite myself, you’ve made me believe. Or at least dream. You can’t take that away.”

“I won’t,” I promise, my eyes drifting back to the Spartan in the painting. “Do you think he will come home?” I whisper after a while.

Javier smiles, looking at the painting too. “Artist opinion or Javier opinion?”

“Both.”

“Well, lucky for you, they’re the same.” He waits for me to look at him. “Yes, I think he will come home.”

I smile, swallowing the stupid tears. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Look at the sunlight streaming through the window. His face is bathed in it. And also, he looks like a total badass.”

I laugh and sniffle at the same time. “He is.”

“Come on, let’s go to your party. You’ll freak out when you see it.”

* * * * *

At the gallery’s double doors, Javier grips the knobs with a smile.

“I have to give him this. He does surprises well. Happy everything, Isa!” He opens the white doors.

I brace myself because I know by now that when Aiden is involved, I will lose my breath and even my balance. But the preparation is futile. The moment I take in the intimate white marble gallery, I still gasp and wobble. Beyond the checkered dance floor, the buffet of Mexican food and the happy faces in the center, are the gallery’s illuminated walls. On each of them, in vivid, colored photographs, hang my last four years in chronological order. Some enormous, some the size of the double frame I just gave to Aiden. Not only from my camera but also from Reagan, the Solises, and even Denton over the years. I search every frame hungrily, looking for a picture of Aiden. At first I panic that he has excluded himself but then I find him. On the fourth wall, in a small frame toward the end of my time here, are his otherworldly eyes watching me with a smile. Under his gaze, one by one, every part of me stands at attention: my skin, my blood, my bones and that little spot between my lungs that responds only to him.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Fire and ICE

Three hours later, barefoot and full of carnitas, I watch the Solises tuck away their presents. What is it about giving gifts that is even better than receiving them? Antonio folds the water heater gift card in the pocket of his plaid shirt, next to his heart. The girls are sprawled on the checkered dance floor with their iPads. Javier is examining his new painting supplies with eyebrows that switch from arches to bushy paintbrushes every few minutes. Even Denton is reading Fleming’s book out loud to his wife, Katherine, who looks positively bored.

“Well, you’ve done it!” Reagan says, lounging next to me with her brand-new peacock-blue fascinator, waving her round-trip ticket to London like a fan in front of her face. “You’ve made me fancy Dragon Charming.”

I laugh and throw my arm around her shoulders. “Your present is for me too, you know. Just in case.”

“Any news?”

“Bob called yesterday. They’re working hard but they’re still not sure if…” I can’t finish my sentence but I don’t have to.

She hugs me back in a hold even tighter than Javier’s. “Don’t think about that tonight. But if it happens, I’ll be there and we can have two corgis and stalk Prince Harry.”

I smile, even though I know not even Prince Harry will revive me then. My eyes drift—as they have every few seconds in the last three hours—to the photo of Aiden’s eyes. I have felt them on me while I ate, smiled, danced—thinking they would make me miss him less. But they had the opposite effect. All night, I felt vacant, like an English cottage with brick walls and rose-covered shingles but, inside, empty.

I am so lost in his gaze that I almost miss the wink between the Solises and Reagan. She leaps to her feet so quickly that her fascinator topples to the floor.

“Time for your present,” she sings, drawing out the vowels in an off-key aria and clapping her hands.

“My present? Reagan, no! You were not supposed to buy me anything!” I almost start wailing. How many extra shifts is this going to cost Maria and Javier?

“Oh, put a stopper on it, Isa! We saved loads of money because of Aiden. Now, come on!” She grips both of my wrists and hoists me up. Bloody hell, those barbells she lifts at the Reed gym are working.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my balance as she starts dragging me across the dance floor.

“You’ll see! Aiden is not the only one who can do surprises.”

“Reagan, wait! I need my shoes!” My feet skate on the waxed wood floor as the Solises skip, pad and wheel to us, Denton bouncing behind them.

Maria throws her cream scarf over my shoulders, Bel shoves my purse on my hand, Dora and Daniela are sliding my heels on the wrong feet, Anamelia just fluffs my dress and throws it over her head. The whole time, Maria fires off orders in Spanglish, from drinking more water to putting ice on my blistered feet. Then she kisses my cheeks and cups my face with her overworked, sun-spotted hands.

“
Señor
Hale
is a good man
,
” she says with a firm nod.

“Yes, he is.” I smile at hearing her acknowledge this out loud. She pats my cheek and turns on Javier.

“You be careful.” She switches to full English. The giggles stop. “No drink, no trouble, no police.” She stabs her index finger into his chest on each command, even though Javier is the last person in the world who would ever attract police attention to himself.

Still, he knows better than to argue with Maria so he gives her a tight hug. “I promise.”

She marks a cross in the air over his forehead, whispering
bendito
, and with that, they shove us out of the gallery and into the cool May evening. Apparently, wherever we are going, it will be only Reagan, Javier and I. The two of them grip my arms so tightly that the whole affair looks like a citizen’s arrest. Despite my protests, they don’t release me until we reach Reagan’s MINI. Once there, they shove me in the backseat and in minutes, we are flying down Fifth Avenue.

“Reagan, can you tell me where we’re going now that we’re in the car? I want to ring Aiden. He’ll be really worried if he comes to pick me up and I’m gone.”

“You can call him, Isa. Just tell him it’s a surprise, he should understand.” She winks in the back mirror and turns on the music to Lana’s “Off to the Races”. Javier smiles, making a gesture like he is locking his lips.

I sigh and dig in my purse for my iPhone—yes, I now have an iPhone, courtesy of Aiden. His unearthly face comes on screen. It’s a picture of him resting his head on the sofa, his eyes closed. He looks like he is sleeping next to me.

I scroll through the texts he sent me during the party:
be safe
,
don’t stand under the heavy picture frames
and my favorite,
here is a floor plan of the safety exits
.

I read his military orders, part laughing, part choking. His fear for my safety is palpable—so intense and unrelenting, as though his own life depends on it. Yet not a single text says
I wish I was there
or
I wish you were here
. Javier’s questions from the gallery echo, so I tap the call button. He answers on the first ring.

“Elisa, are you okay?” The beautiful voice speaks urgently in my ear.

The moment I hear it, a sunray breaks through the closed shutters of the empty cottage. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re calling an hour early. Do you need something?”

Yes, you
. “No, I just wanted to tell you that the Solises and Reagan have plotted their own surprise and are whisking me away somewhere. They seem ridiculously happy about it.” I look at their lunatic smiles on the mirror.

A pause. “Where?” The word is hissy, no doubt because he is clenching his teeth.

I am painfully aware of Javier’s eyes dissecting not only me but also Aiden through my reactions, so I smile. “I don’t know but I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. I’ll ring you the minute we arrive so you know where we are.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment when it comes to your own safety, Elisa. Or that of your friends for that matter.”

“Tell him thank you for my trip to England,” Reagan sings, bouncing to Lana.

“Yes, thank him for me too,” Javier nods in the mirror.

“Did you hear that?” I say to Aiden. “Reagan is revisiting diplomatic relations.”

Another pause. “They’re welcome. Now, I’d like to talk to Mr. Solis.”

I almost choke on my own saliva. “Why?” I whisper. Javier’s eyebrows furrow into a paintbrush again.

“Because I need to hear from his mouth that you will be safe.” More hissing.

“Umm…you sound relaxed,” I say, hoping he will get the hint that he should not hiss, growl, roar or bark at Javier.

A long pause. “Is this better?” His voice becomes even, without any intonation. That’s probably the best he can do right now.

“Yes, that’s good.” Despite my terror, I smile because oddly, this check-in feels intimate. I tap Javier on the shoulder and hand him the phone. “Aiden wants to talk to you.”

Javier’s frown deepens but he takes the phone. “Mr. Hale?”

I unbuckle my seat belt and lean over the front seat, pressing my ear against the phone and bumping Javier’s head.

“Are you taking her somewhere in Portland?” Aiden starts in his even voice.

“Yes. We’re almost there.”

“Crowded?”

“Yes.”

“Text it to me.”

“Mr. Hale, she’ll be fi—”

“Text it to me!” His voice hardens.

Javier’s forehead crumples and he blinks a few times. “Okay, I will. Anything else, Mr. Hale?”

“Yes. Here is the deal, Javier,” Aiden pauses as though to emphasize the fact that he used Javier’s first name. “As you no doubt know, Elisa will be under strict scrutiny from the U.S. government in a few weeks from her source of income to her moral character. Any incident with the law enforcement—any at all—and they may blink.”

Javier nods. “I know that.”

“I don’t want them to blink once. Is that clear?” The words sound like a command.

“I don’t want them to blink either.”

“Good, then I believe we’re on the same page.” Aiden’s voice softens.

Javier nods again. “Yes, I think we are,” he pauses, then adds, “I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”

“Thank you. Enjoy your evening,” Aiden says politely.

I yank the phone from Javier before either of them can say another word. “Aiden?”

“Elisa, I need you to be careful. No matter what, your—safety—comes—first. Understood?” His voice is hoarse with anxiety. I can almost sense his rippling tension through the phone.

“Yes, I’ll be careful—don’t worry. I’ll see you when I get home.” Home? Bloody hell, did I just call his house, my home?

“I’ll be waiting.” A note of sadness enters his voice.

“I miss you.”

A sigh. “I miss you too.”

“You do?”

“If it will make you believe me, I have a picture of you sleeping as a screensaver. Now go have fun with your friends.” His voice softens.

I don’t hang up. I can’t move a finger after what he just told me. “Go, Elisa,” he orders.

I love you
. “Okay,” I grumble and hang up, right as Reagan hits the brakes and parks sideways across two spots.

I look out of the window. We are in a multilevel concrete parking lot, lit up by fluorescents. Bloody hell, how did I miss the entire trip here?

“Where are we?” I ask, searching for road signs.

Reagan and Javier turn to me with identical grins on their faces, Reagan holding an envelope with glitter and Hello Kitty stickers—probably work of Anamelia.

“Da-da-da-dah!” she sings in the tune of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and hands me the envelope.

I laugh and tear it open, pulling out a ticket stub.

“Dog’s bollocks!” I squeal as I read it. “We’re going to a Lana Del Rey concert?”

Reagan starts bouncing on her seat and clapping. “Yes, yes, yes. Right this very minute.”

I squeal again and squeeze myself between the two of them, trying to hug them both. Reagan and I break into “This Is What Makes Us Girls” at the exact same second.

Javier covers his ears and shouts above our crowing. “All right, all right, let’s get going. We’re already five minutes late and the Coliseum is sold out. Ten thousand crazies like you two.” He pretends to shudder.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Reagan sings again. We stumble out of the car, sprinting down the block to the Coliseum. A few other stragglers are racing us to the front doors, singing “Million Dollar Man”.

“Javier,” I huff as I run in my new Louboutin heels in a way that may cost my neck at least two vertebras. “Reg…wait! Have to text…Aiden.”

“We’ll text him inside, Isa,” Javier says. “C’mon, let’s just find our spots.”

“This is what makes us girls!” Reagan keeps screaming.

Barking mad! We finally make it through the doors, terrifying the bouncer with Reagan’s Lana impression, and spill into the Coliseum arena. The moment I see it, my knees almost buckle. Strobe lights and reflectors spin across the endless dark stadium, fracturing over the hordes of bodies. Shoulder to shoulder, back to belly, chanting “Lana! Lana!”

“We’re in the front, first level,” Javier yells behind us. We bump, shove and elbow our way until we reach our spots.

I throw my camera over my neck, sling my purse across my body and pull out my phone to text Aiden. I thumb it three times because the sea of bodies is already rising into a slow wave of motion.

Don’t burn anything down.

We’re at a Lana Del Rey concert.

Coliseum. 1st level. 4th row. Center.

Safe. Miss u. C u soon.

I read it twice. I cannot imagine the terror it will give Aiden just to hear where we are. His worst nightmare coming true—me in a huge crowd where he can’t get to me if something happened. I only hope Benson can calm him down. I press
Send
, watching the message bubble float on the screen.
Delivered
, the iPhone informs me. Almost instantly, three dots appear on the screen. Then they disappear and appear again—four more times. Finally, Aiden manages a response.

I’m sending Benson to be with you.

He’ll be there in 15 minutes.

No arguments if you value my sanity.

Oh, bloody hell! Poor Benson. I text back.

Don’t bother Benson.

Besides it’s sold out.

I’ll be OK. Security everywhere.

The three dots blink on the screen once. Twice. Then they’re gone.

I wait. And wait. The only frozen body in ten thousand who suddenly break into a scream. I look up startled, and see her!

Lana looks smaller in person—in simple jeans with a retro Hollywood charm. She waves modestly and glides to the center. The Coliseum goes pitch black. An eerie silence falls over the crowd, static with anticipation. Then her sultry voice rises in the air, crooning “This Is What Makes Us Girls”. Thousands of phone screens, glowsticks and lighters ignite around me.

The very floor is reverberating with movement. Then, abruptly, the vibrations become a stampede as Lana starts “Million Dollar Man”. Reagan screams, along with all ten thousand others—except maybe Javier who, as always in public, tries to keep a low profile. The words are so vivid, so reminiscent of my own million-dollar man that suddenly, I want to dance my feet off. I clutch Reagan’s and Javier’s hands and we start swaying together, their brilliant smiles gleaming from the flashes. For a brief moment, I wish I could snap a picture of us like this—carefree, laughing, young. Chanting as Lana finishes the song and starts trilling “Summertime Sadness”.

The stadium erupts. No more swaying, only dancing. A violent, unleashed rhythm too fast for the song, as though it keeps time with feelings, not music. Sparklers flare and blaze around us—their gold and silver flames held up by thousands of hands. We break apart, and I start spinning and shimmying, clutching Mum’s dress, feeling like she is dancing with us too. Reagan whirls next to me. We jump and hop—faster, faster—stomping on the floor in a strange, euphoric freedom. Smoke swirls around us, glistening from the flashes. It’s getting hot. Hotter. Burning. A piercing scream. Then another. Suddenly, I’m shoved headfirst into the throng. Something is ripped over my head. A battery of rapid, hard slaps explodes on my legs and thighs. I writhe and jerk away but two strong arms swoop under me and I’m lifted in the smoky air.